


Bad Blood

by wordsliketeeth



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Bruises, Canon Universe, Come as Lube, Dirty Talk, F/M, Hair-pulling, Jealousy, Manipulation, Masturbation, Mental Instability, Multi, Multiple Partners, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Power Play, Rough Sex, Unresolved Tension, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 10:17:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17098736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsliketeeth/pseuds/wordsliketeeth
Summary: “'I'm hearing hesitation,' Saeran lilts, his voice slipping into wavering octaves of sing-song warning. He lifts a hand to the base of your neck and presses his fingers in against the smooth column of your throat. “I bet you could. I can be quite persuasive, you know. I've been taught how to pull wires and push buttons and I know just how I could exploit the love you have for Ray and steal it for myself.'” Saeran catches V in MC's room and a multitude of unforeseen events unfold before the night is over.





	Bad Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hideyourghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hideyourghost/gifts).



When your door comes open and you turn your eyes away from the resplendent light streaming through the windows that line the east wall of your room, you can't believe what— _more appropriately who_ —you're seeing. They're cloaked beneath layers of dark cloth but there's no mistaking the distinct shade of blue that contrasts the robe's loose hood. The same tincture of blue that saturates the hydrangeas in the company of pale pink roses and white gypsophila in a vase atop the table that sits in the center of the floor. Your breath catches in your throat and your heart begins to pound rapidly against your pericardial cavity as if its freedom is an option.

“V?” You step forward, then immediately turn your motion to stillness because the man across the room looks long-faced and severe. You reach for the bottom buttons of your shirt and worry the small fasteners between your fingers as you wait for his response, praying that the weight of it isn't as elephantine as the oppressive air spanning the distance between you.

V lifts his arms and lowers the oversized hood from his head, his long fingers turning paler in the wash of sunlight spilling across the room. “I'm sorry for intruding. I didn't mean to barge in like this. I was afraid that if I knocked I would draw unwanted attention–”

“I can't believe you're actually here,” you say, your words turning over to a trace of suggestion for the volume they lack. “I had a feeling that—with some of the things that Ray—how long have you been here?” A passel of questions rushes to the forefront of your thoughts, a million queries that have stippled the galaxy of your mind since your arrival at Mint Eye. You press your lips together in a thin line and watch V's expression soften into something that touches on sympathy.

“I know you must have a lot of questions but right now, I need to get you out of here. It's imperative that I get you somewhere safe. I'll alert Seven as soon as we leave. He'll know of a safe place we can stay at temporarily.” V frowns then, and his brow creases to showcase the concern that settles into the lines of his face. “I suppose it's nearly time for me to tell him the truth.”

“V...” His name is soft on your lips but it feels sharp against the tip of your tongue like you have no right to speak it.

V shakes his head and a small smile cuts into the dig of his mouth. “It's okay, ____.” He steps forward into the room and reaches for the back of an armchair. You watch his hands as they move over the fabric, his fingertips pressing in hard against the pink material. “I don't want you to feel sorry for me. Everything that I've done, all the pain that I've caused...it's all my fault. It's up to me to fix it.”

“V...Jihyun...I know that you've made mistakes but you're not the only one at fault, and you're definitely not in this alone.” You walk forward, your hesitation growing more distant with each step in V's direction.

V lifts his head and looks at you, his eyes turning an almost-gray hue in the light. “I don't deserve your help,” he says to you, his voice as shaky as you imagine his hands would be without the chair to hold onto. “So many people have been affected by our, _my_ poor choices. We should never have...we were only kids then.”

You're not entirely sure of what he's referring to but his tone is quiet and somehow you know that it's not your time to understand. You put a hand on V's shoulder and he starts at the contact, and under your fingers, you can feel him shiver. “I know they say that it's not about winning, that it's about the rivers that you cross, but so many of the people I care about have lost so much. It doesn't seem fair.”

You can feel the cool tremor under V's skin spread from your hands through your veins, branching off somewhere near your abdomen to spread through your entire body. V shifts and it draws your attention away from the feeling but something else is already taking its place, something like desperation and desire that form together to tie knots around the heat in your stomach. Then V's hands are lifting to cup your face, his fingers curling gently around your skull, thumbs brushing over the contours of your cheeks. You close your eyes and feel your blood stir, pulsing as it rises to a fever on the surface of your skin. It darkens your complexion and sends an overwhelming rush of heat down the length of your spine to pool in your stomach. The whimper on your lips dies before you can truly make sense of the sound and when you open your eyes, V is smiling at you.

“You're beautiful,” he tells you. He traces the shape of your face as if he's sketching you on a canvas, his fingers baring you in swatches as he turns affection into an art form. He drags his fingertips across the lines of your lashes, his touch feather-light. He pushes your hair back and away from your cheeks, thumbs at your bottom lip, all while looking directly into you.

You feel too exposed, barefaced and open, and when V's thumb settles at the line of your jaw you shiver at the touch. It feels like he's stripping you down and laying you bare, but to finally feel his hands on your skin is intoxicating, like he's stolen your breath and replaced it with heat. His eyes are dark and searching, an intensity spilling over into the brilliance of his gaze that you can't name. You feel pinned by that gaze, and when V takes a fistful of hair into his hand to gently pull your head back, you feel like he's drenching you in a vibrancy you had yet to find in the small space of your monochrome cage. You gasp and follow the motion leading his grip, loving the feeling of being held, of being _touched_. Your breath catches in the dark of your throat and you suddenly realize that V's face is bare centimeters from your own, that he's surrounding you. It scares you, makes you recognize that, in this moment, there's no one else in the world beyond V—and you're all too willing to accept this truth if it means that V doesn't let you go.

“I need to get you out of here,” he reiterates, his words more breath than actual volume and when he shifts, his lips brush against the trembling of your own.

“That won't be happening.”

You recognize the voice before V even has time to distance himself from you, and it feels so unkind, like you've been given happiness only for it to be torn cruelly away from you. You flinch violently when the door to your room slams shut and you don't have to look to know that it's Ray's heavy boots sounding on the polished floor. Although you have to admit, you've never seen him quite this angry before.

“Ray! V was just here–”

Ray laughs, the sound low and dangerous in his throat. “Don't start, ____. No excuse that you give me is going to justify why V is here, standing in my way.”

“Ray?” V steps forward in a discreet attempt to hide you behind his back. “What have you been telling her, Saeran?”

“Saeran?” you parrot, furrowing your brow in consternation.

“Do you really think that you can protect her, V? You weren't even strong enough to stand beside our savior and now you think you can pretend at some kind of hero? You're pathetic.”

Ray— _or is it Saeran_ —removes his jacket and tosses it to the floor before walking forward to meet V. “And whatever I do with her, is my business. Don't get in my way or I'll make sure those eyes _do_ go blind.”

“Saeran, you need to calm down,” V says, lifting a hand to put distance between himself and the rather unsettled boy in front of him.

“Why do you keep calling him that?” you ask, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible despite the electricity crackling through your veins.

“Because that's his name,” V answers, his eyes trained on the other male's face. “I don't know who Ray is but–”

“Shut up, V! And don't tell me what I need!” Saeran shouts, shoving hard at V's shoulder. It's obvious that at this moment, he has no interest in you, his attention is fixed on V and V only. “You don't get to tell me what I can do. You betrayed us! You abandoned me!” Saeran reaches behind his back and it becomes clear that whatever it is that he's looking for is missing by the anger that bleeds out of his throat. “Fuck!” He takes a single step back and runs a hand through his hair, his breathing labored and his eyes wild. “You're lucky, V,” he says, pointing at the man standing in front of you. “If it wasn't for that pussy-whipped...” he trails off, grinding his teeth and shaking his head. Then: “You'd be dead.” The words are violent and harsh as he spits them, quite literally, at V's feet.

“I know that you're upset with me. You have every reason to be but right now isn't the time for this. Saeran, I need to get her out of here.” V winds an arm behind his back and gestures for you to take his hand. You struggle for a brief moment as you try to parse the possible outcomes of the situation you're in. Worried for your safety, you take V's hand but the second your fingers close around his own you feel sick, like you're betraying Ray or Saeran or whoever it is of the two who actually cares about you. And you know that at least one of them does because you've witnessed it, _felt_ it, but this is not the boy from those nights. No, this is someone else entirely.

Saeran laughs and you swear that you can hear venom creeping up the back of his throat. His eyes are burning bright and his pupils have blown so wide they've eclipsed the mint you've spent many nights dreaming about. His hands are shaking, balled into tight fists, and his posture is unnatural, tense and straining like a dog ready to snap.

The air is suffocating and thick with certain doom and you can't think fast enough to formulate a reasonable strategy to pacify Saeran into an agreement. Hell, any kind of distraction would be appreciated at this point but you're too startled by the revelation that your love interest has multiple personalities to create one.

“What you need to do is leave, V.” Saeran's voice breaks the tension but the static in the air is so tangible you think you can taste it on the back of your tongue.

“I can't do that,” V answers. He squeezes your hand—whether involuntarily or an act of reassurance—you're not sure. “I won't leave her here. I can't trust you not to hurt her.”

“Hurt her?” Saeran mimes, incredulity rising into the notes of a question. “Of course I'm going to hurt her.”

“Why?” V asks, the word like grit between his teeth.

“Why? You're really asking me why?” Saeran barks, pacing back and forth over the rug at the foot of your bed. “Because I'm sick of people playing me! I'm fucking tired of being lied to! I might be away from that place, that _hell_ I was forced to call home but I'm not free, not really. Do you know what that feels like, V? Do you know what it feels like to have to work for everything and to have it snatched away from you the second it's within reach? Do you know what it's like to always have something standing in your way? No, you don't. You don't because you're that _something_ , V. You're always in the way and for what? To throw it all aside? To _forget_?” Saeran swings his leg out and kicks over one of the chairs nestled against the table. It hits the floor with a dull thud and the vase on top of the table shakes threateningly. “You don't deserve her, V.”

You can feel a tremor pass through V's hand and you frown, sure that he's taking everything Saeran is saying to heart. So when you steal a glance at his face, you're surprised to find anger in the place of guilt. “That's where you're wrong, Saeran. I'll admit to my past mistakes but I can't help that I fell in love with her any more than you can.”

“Ha! You think that I'm in love with her?” Saeran asks, cold amusement slicing through his speech. A needle lances through your heart, threading each beat with a pang of disappointment and stitching your aorta with threads of hurt.

“I know you are,” V says. His articulation is crisp and the timbre of his voice spills over into confident inflection, the resonance enough on its own to speak for V's conviction without the stiff angle of his shoulders or the tension setting the line of his jaw.

“You _know_? That's interesting.” Saeran continues to pace across the carpet, his boots making distinguishable patterns on its plush threads. “It's fascinating really, that you know anything about me given the lack of time you've spent in my presence.” Saeran stills the motion of his thought and shakes the weight of his hair away from his brow. “Not that I'm complaining. Time is a precious thing to me and I like to save my minutes for people who deserve them. You know, people who aren't backstabbing hypocrites like you.”

“Do you think that I've forgotten everything, Saeran? Do you think that Rika has always stayed silent?” V squeezes your hand gently and tugs you closer to where he's standing. You can feel the heat emanating from his body through the layers of fabric he's swathed in; and despite the apparent severity of the situation you're in, you yearn to touch the skin beneath those layers. “You and I both know that I could apologize until the sky opens up and decides to take me and it would never be enough. You will never believe me. No matter what I say, you will give credence to the opposite just to spite me.”

Saeran cards his hands through his hair and twists the pale strands between his fingers, tugging hard enough to draw visible pain across the lines drawn upon his face. “Fuck you, V. You don't know shit! And don't you dare talk about my savior like you have any right. You lost that privilege a long time ago—when you _betrayed_ her.”

“I never meant to betray Rika, Saeran–”

“Stop calling her that!” Saeran interjects, his voice tearing into strains of splintered harmony. His eyes swallow the shadows that climb the walls and when he looks at V you can see the hatred spelled across his gaze in an inky spill of emotion. “And stop using that name.” He clenches his jaw and you can hear the slide of teeth against teeth when he grinds them together. You can't help but flinch and you know that V feels it because he presses his thumb in against your wrist in a gesture that suggests comfort.

V lowers his head a fraction and sighs in a way that bespeaks defeat. “What do I need to do to prove to you that I'm not trying to hurt you?” Your gaze flickers between V and Saeran, your blood turning to ice in your veins as your heart hammers through the fear in your chest.

“Give her to me,” Saeran says, straightforward and self-possessed. “Hand her over to me and I'll consider letting you walk out of here alive.”

“Sae—Ray, please don't do this. There's no reason to threaten V's life. I'll come to you willingly.” You tense your fingers around V's hand and note how your palm feels sweaty, but you don't know if it's your own alarm-born perspiration or V's sticking to your skin. You suppose it doesn't matter because no amount of dread can keep you from trying to protect the man standing in front of you.

Saeran scoffs disgust, then the sound breaks into laughter that echoes throughout the room like the knell of doom. “So he's gotten to you too?” he asks, his breathing ragged and erratic. Then he turns back to V. “It's a shame that you've been so deluded by the members of the RFA, V. Apparently you have a natural born talent to inveigle people. Ironic, considering how easily you were brainwashed by those idiots my savior once trusted.”

“I'm not brainwashed, Saeran, and I'm not trying to entice or manipulate anyone. I just want to get ____ to safety before things retrogress again.” V steps forward and you can't help but tie yourself up in knots, bound up in the tension laid out in front of you. You lift your head and meet Saeran's eyes and you're surprised to find that his gaze is shaking you loose.

“I'd be more than happy to extend that same offer to you, Saeran. You need help.” V presents his hand and you see the shift in Saeran before your eyes close on mechanical impulse.

“I don't want your help,” Saeran snaps, the words knife-edged on his tongue. He spits on the floor at V's feet and smacks his hand away violently. “I'll die before I ever accept help from someone like _you_.”

V's posture stiffens and you don't have to imagine the pain that's trickling down his spine, washed out in the shadows because you can _feel_ it. “Saeran...”

“Do you have feelings for him?” Saeran asks, and it takes you a moment to realize that he's addressing you.

You catch the bottom line of your mouth between your teeth and close your eyes, begging whatever celestial being cares to listen for the answers that you know you'll never find. And when you finally open your eyes to blink the room back into focus, you feel confused, disillusioned. “Ray, I can't stay here. I love you but I can't spend the rest of my life trapped between these walls.”

Saeran's chest vibrates with the low resonance of a growl that shivers in his throat before breaking into an embittered shout. “You love Ray but you're willing to turn your back on him just because this double-crossing asshole shows up and offers you safety. And what is that exactly, V? The same _freedom_ that she has here? The sanctuary that you once offered me?” Saeran laughs, almost hysterically, then he turns to look you in the eye. “The RFA won't offer you protection from harm. This bed might be a cage but I will never let you lie in the one that _he's_ made. He's lying to you, ____.”

“I'm not trying to turn my back on anyone,” you tell him. For the first time since V took your hand in his own, you pull away from him, and the loss of contact feels suffocating in its wake. “I do love Ray but I don't think that I can be the girl he wants me to be.” The truth places you at the crossroads of sorrow and disappointment and for a moment, you wish that you could capture the words and force them back into your mouth.

“You think you're right but what you want is wrong,” Saeran says. “You want to leave this place and take Ray with you, just like V does. But I can't allow that. You see, Ray is much weaker than I am. Ray loves you but at his heart, he might be willing to let you go for the sake of your foolish desire.” Saeran rushes forward and before V can intervene, he snatches your wrist in his cold grip and tugs you firmly against his chest. “But I'm not Ray and I've got nothing left to give.” His lips brush the delicate curve of your ear and you can't help but shiver under the breath that ghosts your skin. “Tell me, ____. Do you think you have enough room in that big heart of yours to let me in? Do you think that you'd ever be capable of loving _me_?”

“Saeran...” His name feels foreign on your tongue and innate resistance tells you to tread carefully when using his given name.

“I'm hearing hesitation,” Saeran lilts, his voice slipping into wavering octaves of sing-song warning. He lifts a hand to the base of your neck and presses his fingers in against the smooth column of your throat. “I bet you could. I can be quite persuasive, you know. I've been taught how to pull wires and push buttons and I know just how I could exploit the love you have for Ray and steal it for myself.”

“Saeran, let her go,” V cautions, the demand falling into the waters of a threat. “She doesn't deserve this.”

“What doesn't she deserve, V?” Saeran taunts, squeezing the hand that foreshadows danger and begs to crush your trachea. “I don't take kindly to deception, in case you couldn't tell. I think it's only fair that she be punished for her disloyalty to me.”

“She never sold you out. Not to the RFA, not to anyone. She didn't even know that I was here until today. Accusing her of being unfaithful is a bit histrionic, don't you think?” V doesn't break his focus but you can see nervousness building in the brilliance of his stare, which means that Saeran can see it too.

“No. In fact, I think that this truth is a bit understated. If it's theatrics that you want, then I'm only too happy to oblige.” Saeran makes quick work of the buttons on your blouse with a forceful tug that renders its coverage useless. The small fasteners litter the floor and you have to fight the urge to chase after them for the leading desperation that pulls you into its eddy. Your heart beats wildly in your chest and you can feel the rapid thrum of your pulse against the promising bruises Saeran is leaving on your throat.

“Don't,” V warns, shaking his head. “Don't do this to her.”

“Why not?” Saeran winds an arm around your waist and tugs you impossibly close to the torrid framework of his body. The hand pressing against your throat slides down over your clavicle, his thumb catching at the hollow of your throat before tracing the line of your sternum. The bitten edge of his thumbnail catches on your skin, adding to the traction of the motion. You close your eyes, too ashamed to chance meeting V's gaze as Saeran closes a hand over the weight of your left breast. The thin cloth between his skin and your own isn't enough to interpose the touch and it takes every grain of your self-control not to moan as his fingers glance over a hardening nipple playfully. “She seems to be enjoying herself. Isn't that what you want—for her to be happy?”

“I would do anything for her,” V says, his composure unwavering. It adds to the pink dusting your cheeks and the heat collecting in the dark of your throat. It feels like shame but somehow it tastes like pleasure, and you begin to wonder if you're out of your mind and when you started living outside of your head.

“Prove it,” Saeran says, as casually as if discussing today's weather. The weight of his hand drops to your ribcage and you can't help but track the motion, the way his palm feels against your skin, the heat, the friction, the way his fingers are pushing against your intercostals. It's too much and not enough and when he shifts to align his posture you shudder uncontrollably.

“How?” V asks. His voice pulls you back to the present but your attention is vacillating. You blink once, an attempt to draw V into clarity but Saeran's touch is sliding back to the strain of a turgid peak and what should be clearness clouds into obscurity.

“Drink the elixir.” Saeran's touch stalls briefly and it's alarming because you realize in that moment that even when the fire is gone you're still going to burn. Then you understand the weight of his request and try to free yourself from the cage of his arms.

“What? No. Saeran, please don't make him do that.” Your voice is shaky, like the words you're speaking are resting on the tremor vibrating beneath your skin. “I'll stay with you. Just don't make him–”

“Fine,” V answers, sharp and certain. “If it means that you'll leave her out of this, I'll do it. But you have to promise me that you won't hurt her.”

“I don't make promises.” Saeran rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then pinches the sensitive nub teasingly. This time, the moan that's lodged itself into your throat spills past your lips and you feel like you've been thrown into the sea to drown in humiliation or ecstasy or whatever it is that's pooling in the low of your belly. You can't be sure for the heat and the ache and the knots that have formed around the butterflies that beat their wings against your ribcage. The only thing you can be certain of is the quiver that's taken over the stability of your legs and the warmth that's spreading to the apex of your thighs. “I guess you're just going to have to trust me.”

“That's a lot to ask of me, Saeran,” V answers him.

“But it's so simple. I'm not asking you to save her. If it were up to me, I'd leave you to ashes and dust, snuff out your mere existence. You're the one who decided to play hero.” Saeran presses the soft of his mouth to the curve of your throat and you know that he's staring right into V's eyes for the look of resentment that manipulates his features. “See, I'm not a liar, V.” His lips brush the twitch of your pulse—which is distraction enough—then he's dragging the cool edges of his teeth over the rhythm of motion. When he draws away you're reintroduced to the feeling of loss and you find yourself growing impatient. “It wouldn't matter if I was. I could feed her lies and crawl around inside of her mind. I could show her what it means to be afraid, to know _true_ fear, and I could _still_ make her mine. You, on the other hand, you're gutless, V.” Saeran lowers the hand at your waist to the line of your skirt, his fingers teasing the soft of your belly. “But I don't need to do any of that, do I? I don't need to fill her head with bullshit to make her want me.” His fingers dip beneath the cincture of your skirt and you can't still the involuntary tremble that shakes through you at the contact.

You try to convey an unspoken message to V through your eyes but if he's understanding it, he's missing the point because he looks more disconcerted than he should. You want to tell him to leave, to run while he still can and that you'll take the fall because there's no reason for anyone to get hurt on your account. Then suddenly your thoughts are shattered and you hear V murmur something in agreement as Saeran walks his fingers down to the radiant heat of your arousal.

“There's a vial in the breast pocket of Ray's jacket. Drink it all or it won't count,” Saeran says, teasing his fingers over the front of your panties. You shiver beneath his arms and try for a second time to wriggle out of his grip but the laughter that spills down the back of your neck is proof enough of your failure to escape. “Relax, ____. The elixir was meant for you. Ray would never do anything to intentionally hurt you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you ask, your words dissolving in the breath that shudders out of you.

“It means that I didn't get a chance to poison it,” Saeran tells you, humor too close to the truth for comfort. “Besides, that amount won't be enough to drug V the way I would have had I known that this would happen.”

“Saeran, please don't hurt him,” you beg, desperation like panic on your tongue. You tremble when Saeran tightens an arm around the space just below your ribs. His embrace is close to crushing and you know that he wants you to understand just what it means to go against him. You exhale a shiver of breath and go slack against his chest, not wanting to add fuel to the fire that's raging through his blood—it's close to the surface, an undercurrent of instability threatening to erupt at any moment. It's obvious that Saeran isn't stupid, isn't anywhere close to as gullible as Ray might be, and you know that you have to watch your every move if you're going to make it out of this with V wholly intact.

“I won't hurt him, baby. Not as long as he holds up his end of the bargain,” Saeran answers, his voice slipping into a whisper. He lowers his hand and presses his fingers against the pulse running through your clit. “It's just that V seems to have this hero complex. Maybe he feels that it's necessary to save whatever he can to atone for all of the lives that he's already destroyed.” He slips his thumb into the soft weave of your panties to tug them lower, just enough to taunt the promise of pleasure. “Seems futile to me.”

You want to tell him that V is a good person, that he's sorry for what he's done, but there are too many cracks and craters in what you know and you're not willing to risk triggering Saeran's temper for an opinion he won't absorb.

You hear the discernible clatter of glass shattering against the floor and a feeling of dread surges through you.

“So...bitter,” V sputters, coughing several times as he shuffles forward. And for as much as you didn't want him to drink the elixir you pray that he swallowed it all before letting the vial smash into fragments.

“Really?” Saeran asks, stilling his ministrations to express his surprise. “Ray spent forever trying to make it sweet. Poor kid can't even get that right.”

“Ray isn't a kid and he's not stupid,” you defend, shoving at Saeran's arm in another fruitless attempt at freedom. “Saeran, please let me go. I'm not going to run away.”

“If I got rewarded for every time I heard that...” Saeran muses, chuckling low in his throat.

“Let her go,” V says, echoing your request. You expect him to sound weak, or narcotized at the very least, but he doesn't. Instead, he sounds resolute and almost aggressive, unlike the V that you've come to know. It sends a shiver down the entire length of your spine along with a spark of heat that fizzles out somewhere between your knees. It's a strange dichotomy and it leaves you feeling light-headed and powerless.

“Or what?” Saeran snaps. He presents himself with confidence but in a place without trust there's ambivalence, so he removes his hand from your skirt and prepares himself for whatever it is V might throw at him.

V staggers for a brief second but he manages to catch himself just before he's forced to submit to precarious balance. He walks forward, his eyes dark and his shoulders squared. His pupils are blown wide and you know that the elixir is to blame but V seems undaunted, leaving you to parse whether his strength is veritable or a symptom of present circumstance.

“Oh look, Daddy's trying to play at salvation,” Saeran mocks, his fingers digging into your ribs. “Are you going to deliver her from evil? V, the valiant, the white knight. It does have a ring to it. Too bad you'll never know what it feels like to save the person you care about.”

Saeran casts you aside and the impact is more glancing than forceful but it's still enough to send you reeling, falling to the floor with a dull thud that spreads to an ache at the point of involuntary contact. You lift your head and see that V's eyes are pinned to Saeran's face, shadowed and narrow, but there's a small smile taking over the shape of his lips. It spells danger along the frame of his mouth and you nearly choke on the saliva that slips down the back of your throat for its meaning.

“I will know exactly how that feels,” V tells Saeran, almost growling. He grabs the collar of Ray's shirt—assuming that Saeran doesn't share Ray's passion for artistic fashion—and drags him forward. “You will not control me, S _on_.”

Something solid and cold settles in your gut, heavy like lead and sour like bile. You can taste terror on your tongue and feel dread wrap around your spine like a hot coil ready to snap. Your hands are trembling and your mind is racing as it struggles to formulate a sensible strategy to break the tension purring through the room.

“What did you call me?” Saeran rasps. He lifts his arm and circles his fingers around V's wrist and you can see the slight shift of his skin as Saeran sinks his nails into the flesh above V's ulna. “Let go of me,” Saeran clips.

“I see that you can dish it out but you can't take it,” V comments, impassive. He jerks Saeran forward, twisting his collar around his hand to face him in your direction. “Are you so miserable that you want her to suffer just like you had to?”

“Fuck you, V. You don't know what–”

“You're terrible at answering questions,” V interrupts. He bends forward enough to shift his lips at Saeran's ear when he says: “Let me ask you something simpler then—do you want her?” You realize that V's looking at you, his eyes drawing heat down your spine, and you're burning up because it feels like he's looking right _through_ you.

“I think Ray already made his feelings quite clear.” Saeran answers V while glaring at you, his words turning to flecks of spit on his bottom lip as he tears himself free from V's grip more violently than strictly necessary.

“And you've made it quite clear that you're not Ray.” V drops the weight of his hand on Saeran's shoulder and before the light-haired boy can react, V shoves him forward in your direction. “Finish what you started, Saeran. Let's see if you share in Ray's feelings for her since you're not capable of admitting what we already know.”

“I'm capable of doing whatever I want to do,” Saeran growls. It's almost as though he's chewing on his words, crushing them between his teeth. And his voice is capable of producing poison but when he turns to look at you, it's plain to see that his strongest weapon is the look in his eyes. “I should have known you'd be a pervert, V. The weak ones always love to watch.”

“I didn't say anything about watching,” V says. He turns around and walks toward the bed, “If you have any shred of decency left in that cold heart of yours, it would be chivalrous of you to help her up off the floor.”

“You're gonna pay for this, V,” Saeran warns. He reaches down and hooks his forearm beneath the juncture of your arm and shoulder. “I'm going to break you down slowly and I'll make sure that you feel every ounce of the pain that you've put in me.” Saeran lifts you bodily, up and away from the floor, then allows you several seconds to find your footing.

“We'll see about that,” is all V's says, leaving no space for conversation as Saeran guides you to the bed impatiently.

Sex with Saeran is rough, hurried and vicious against the pristine bedclothes Ray so thoughtfully picked out for you. His hold is firm, his fingers bracing at the back of your neck as the digits on his opposite hand fuck into you, more demanding than persuasive. You feel delirious, a slave to sensation and dizzy with the heat laying claim to your body. V is at your side, his lithe frame stretched out across the bed, and when he licks into your mouth with force more suited to a desperate teenager, you realize that he's been observing you this entire time. Then, one of Saeran's hands is pressing hard against your hip, leaving bruising fingerprints on your skin like a trophy of his affection, while the other catches at the fall of your hair to knot your loose strands in his fist. V's fingers are at your shoulder, the point of contact soothing, and when Saeran slides the length of his cock into your entrance you're grateful for it. Your vision turns to a wash of white, the impact of Saeran pushing into you overwhelming, but the pain that you should feel is too far away, blanketed by the flare of pleasure that becomes you. It feels like he'll be the last breath you breathe, the knife that will sink into your gut and end it all and the only thing you'll have left is the apperception of your demise.

Saeran is forcing your neck into an awkward angle and you can't see V clearly for the pillows thrown haphazardly against the headboard, but you know enough by the shift of his arm and the slope of his shoulders that he's stroking over himself. Not only are you surprised that Saeran isn't protesting the motion but also, that he's making no attempt to offer you any kind of reciprocated satisfaction. He just fucks into you with self-indulgent purpose, each thrust sharp enough to drive himself into you as deep as your body will allow. It's pain and pleasure and every time he rocks forward you feel like he's injecting you with the storm of emotions that he wears on his sleeve.

“You're close,” V notes, and you don't know who he's talking to but it's Saeran that answers him.

“How would you know?” The question leaves his mouth in a slur of words, stacked on top of each other to cloy along the strain in his throat. His fingers tighten in your hair and he absentmindedly shoves your cheek down and against the pillows that have made prints in the sweat sticking to your skin.

V emits a noise then, a hoarse strain of sound that overflows into the rough grating rasp of a laugh. “It's easy to see,” he answers, seemingly unaffected by the way Saeran's hips are snapping forward, his cock sinking deep into your heat. It flares gratification in your veins and the pleasure of it is rushing over raw nerve-endings like the electricity that's grounding itself out in your blood: the lightning that Saeran sparked across your skin. “Just like your feelings for her.”

The casual way V speaks pushes Saeran harder and he's grinding against you like the supposed love inside of him is facilitating his urgency—like he can snuff out the fire burning through him by fucking you. But it's apparent that he can't because no sooner than you take your next breath he's coming apart, shuddering satisfaction as he capitulates inside of you.

“She belongs to me,” Saeran whispers, his weight heavy against your back as he slips his arms around you and pulls you tight against his chest. Your focus slides to the steady thrum of his heart as it pulses down your spine, and for a reason unbeknownst to you, it feels like home.

Sex with V is slow and lingering—where Saeran leaves bruises, V leaves spirit, like he's branding parts of himself into you—and when he slides you into his lap, his thighs open beneath you on the bed, you can barely _breathe_. His hands are firm on your hips, his fingers fitting into the prints Saeran left on your skin. He waits for you to get comfortable, to ease the tension straining along your inner thighs from straddling his legs, to drape an arm over the curve of his shoulder, your palm pressing flat against his spine for some semblance of traction. V smiles and lets your combined weight fall back against the headboard for purchase as he begins to move with calculated certainty. You can feel the intensity of Saeran's gaze at your back then, prickling down the shifting length of your spine as you rock forward. V tips his hips up _just so_ to meet the rhythm of your movement, his mouth slack on breath and his fingers tensing for the pleasure that turns to heat in his veins. You slide your hand up V's spine until your fingers are tangled in the hair that rests at the nape of his neck. He sighs contentment and closes his eyes, his head falling back to rest against the resistance behind him.

“You feel better than anything I ever could have imagined,” V says, tracing his lips with the wet of his tongue. He arches his back and somehow manages to push into you deeper despite the angle of your position. “You're so warm and wet and... _god I want you_.”

A whimper escapes your throat and you lean forward to pant against the pale blue of V's hair. He smells like sandalwood and cinnamon with a touch of lemongrass, and what seems like a strange amalgamation of aromas is surprisingly pleasant. You inhale his scent as you roll your hips, breathless and shuddering.

“You know, you're using my come as lubrication,” Saeran says from across the room. You don't know his exact location but if you had to guess, you'd put him near the windows you were facing earlier.

“You're forgetting, I'm not the petty one here.” V lifts a hand from your hip and fits his fingers between your thighs, in alongside the aching heat of his cock. “If anything, it's making the slide much easier.” As soon as the assessment leaves V's mouth it melts into a low moan. It vibrates in his chest, grates past his throat and into resonance.

Saeran scoffs a huff of indignation and exhales a consolation sigh but says nothing else. You don't know why Saeran is letting V fuck you— _perhaps it's better that way_ you tell yourself—but you're high off their affections and every scared thought in your mind turns to ballroom dreams and you realize that you've never felt quite so happy.

When V finally looks at you, his eyes cut deep into your soul and you would spend every night of your youth bleeding out on the floor if it meant that V would sacrifice this side of himself to you for all eternity. He smiles then as if he can read your mind and all of a sudden you feel trouble surrounding you; it tastes like chaos and slides like a tattoo beneath your skin and you know that if you don't start taking control you're going to face challenges that defy your imagination.

V curses and the timbre of articulation is bright on his tongue like the flicker of inundated pleasure that swamps your veins and overruns your ability to parse what's important from what you desire. You clutch at V's hair and right shoulder in tandem, fingers tugging at sweat-damp strands and nails scratching at slick skin. You whimper and V moans and you don't know which of you breaks first but you can feel the spill of V's release as a current of unadulterated bliss pushes you over the precipice of your climax.

You collapse against V's chest and sigh complacently when he circles his arms around your waist. You press your forehead into his shoulder and listen to the strain of his breathing as he rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm. Your body spasms impulsively and you can feel your muscles tighten around V's softening member. You chuckle softly when V groans in the form of a complaint, his fingers going slack on your thigh. “I think you've taken all I have to offer,” he says, his words slow and his voice syrupy-sweet.

“Tch. That much is obvious,” Saeran says, his voice closer now. “She hasn't even moved yet and there's come leaking out of her cunt. It's making a mess on the duvet. Ray isn't going to be happy.”

V's gaze flickers to Saeran briefly, then back to you, his eyes half-lidded and back to their usual warmth. “I think that a shower is in order, don't you?” he asks you, his tone softened, worn out and satiated with pleasure.

You grumble something unintelligible against the soft of V's throat and loop your arms tighter around the line of his neck. V laughs and Saeran traces the curvature of your spine with his calloused fingertips. “I suppose I can make you come again,” V tells you, shifting the hand between your thighs to brush his fingertips over your still-throbbing clit.

“If anyone is making her come again, it's going to be me,” Saeran protests, dragging his nails down your back, feather-light but suggestive.

“No one is going to be coming again anytime soon,” you say, groaning as you draw away from the comfort and stability of V's body. “I think you've claimed enough of me today to be getting on with. I'm sore and _sensitive_.” You smack the back of V's hand to emphasize the delicacy of his stimulating touch.

“Yeah, and this asshole said he wasn't even going to watch,” Saeran says, bitterness sharpening his tone.

“No, I said that I didn't _say_ anything about watching. I knew at that moment that I was going to fuck her so voyeurism was never my main intention,” V answers, with a confidence that you didn't think he was capable of before his current visit.

“Don't think that this” –Saeran gestures to where you're straddling V's thighs– “means that I'm not going to hurt you, V. I'll never forgive you.”

“Are you really going to do this now?” you ask, sliding off of V's lap carefully. You make a face indicative of your displeasure as the sticky warmth of viscous fluid trickles down your thighs but you quickly pull yourself together before facing the two males in front of you. “You _both_ left bruises on my body. You _both_ touched places in me that I wasn't even aware of having. You _both_ came inside of me. And now, _both_ of you can help clean up this mess.” You wave your hands over your body hastily then set off in the direction of the bathroom, stumbling as the strain in your thighs lays claim to your ability to walk.

“This isn't over,” Saeran warns, and you can imagine him pointing a finger at V to underscore the threat.

“I hope not,” V replies, the rustle of bedding leading his motion as he slips off the bed and onto the floor. “I haven't had sex like that in a long time.”

“Save it, Saeran,” you call, stepping over the threshold between your bedroom and the bathroom. “I can already _hear_ the sarcasm building in you.” You push open the door to the shower and turn on the faucet. “If you can manage to behave I'll give you a reward.”

“Promise?” he asks, stepping into the room to lean against the door-frame.

“I don't make promises,” is your reply, then: “I guess you're just going to have to trust me.”

Saeran walks forward and slides a hand between your thighs, grinding his palm against your sex roughly. “We'll see about that.”

“I wouldn't put a lot of faith in that, ____. Saeran has trust issues like you wouldn't believe,” V says, rubbing his temples as he leans against the former shadow of Saeran's place in the door-frame.

You take a breath and part your lips to speak the words that strike your tongue but Saeran forces his fingers into your mouth and the only thing you can do is gasp into pleasure. You close your eyes and let Saeran press his fingers in against your tongue; the salt and the heat on his skin tastes like obedience and it's the best thing you've tasted in years.

You've never felt quite so prepared for the future.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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